


If You Ever Come Back

by helizabethg



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:42:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helizabethg/pseuds/helizabethg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner than anyone expected, Ian Gallagher steps through the doors of the Gallagher home.</p><p>This starts about a week after the end of S3, so spoilers up to 3x12, "Survival of the Fittest."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this may end up being a one-shot but let me know if anyone wants me to continue. I'm having serious Shameless withdrawals.
> 
> This part shifts perspectives but it's easy to tell whose perspective it is but it all centers around Ian.
> 
> Enjoy!

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Fiona shouts, opening her arms. “Joining the army as Lip? _Seriously_?” 

“Well I’m not old enough,” Ian bites back. 

“I’m going to tell you just what I told Lip,” she says. “You’re graduating high school. You can go join the army after but you’re not doing anything without a high school diploma.”

“You don’t have one!” 

“Yeah, and my life is just fucking perfect, isn’t it?” she cries out hysterically. “You’re generally the fucking sensible one in this family, Ian!”

Ian doesn’t respond. 

“How the hell could you just run off and join the army without even telling anyone?” 

“Because everyone else has their own damn lives and I just wanted something for me! The army is _my_ thing. It’s what I’m good at.” 

“Ian, we need you here,” says Fiona, softening. 

“You don’t. I’m always that middle kid. The one everyone forgets about. Did you even notice I was gone?” 

“Of course we did, Ian. Lip almost punched that hole through the wall,” she points to a clear dent in the wall, “especially after he figured out how you got yourself on the bus. Debbie started that death shit again like after Aunt Ginger’s friend died, and Carl’s been mopey since Frank got his death warrant and this didn’t help anything,” her shouting fades, “But we noticed, Ian.” 

“Whatever.” Feeling a little worse, but not enough to back down and apologize, he shrugs and turns his body.

 “Ian, I know there’s been something going on with you. You should have known that you’d get yourself in a shit load of trouble. You can talk to me.” 

“I can’t.” 

With that he grabs his duffle off the floor, storms up the stairs, the sound of Fiona shouting, “Back to school Monday!” following him. 

He throws his dirty army duffle by his bed in the much too small room he shares with too many brothers and climbs into his bed. He kicks his army boots to the ground and puts his hands behind his head, elbows out like awkward butterfly wings. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there for, hours or minutes, but time doesn’t seem to matter. It ticks by, the sun rising higher and higher in the sky. Ian doesn’t move. After an undetermined amount of time, the door to his room slams against the walls and he’s shocked out of his trance. His body jerks and he turns slightly towards the huffing figure in the doorway. 

“Oh hey, jackass,” snaps Lip, making his way into the room. 

“What do you what?” he grumbles. 

“Oh, you know, just have a talk, catch up, find out why you _joined the fucking army under my name_.” The whole sentence is like a crescendo, going from soft, calm pseudo friendliness to, ‘I want to rip your head off.’ 

“Just leave me alone, Lip,” he snaps. 

“Leave you alone?” he questions rhetorically. “Did you not even think for a _second_ what consequences your actions might have?”

Ian shrugs him off turning his back to his fuming brother. 

“MIT called, they threatened to revoke my acceptance.” 

“You didn’t even want to go to MIT.” 

“Yeah well now I do. I had to so kindly explain to them that my _dick_ of a brother took my name and tried to join the fucking army before turning eighteen! Real fucking nice, Ian.” 

Ian doesn’t respond. He simply looks up to the ceiling while his brother stands staring at him, fuming. Part of him wishes he felt worse about what he did but it’s like everything is numb around him. 

“I was right,” snaps Lip. “We should have just put you on fucking suicide watch. Is that what you were doing by joining the army? Trying to get away from fucking Mickey Milkovich?” 

Ian, a scowl etched upon his face, turns towards his brother. “You know what, fuck you, Lip.” 

“No. Fuck _you_ Ian.” Lip violently points at his brother, with a sharp lunge, and rips a hand through his curly hair. “And you didn’t even think they’d do some kind of background check? It’s the United States government, Ian. How stupid can you actually be?” With that he storms off, slamming the door aggressively behind him. 

As he lies, staring at the ceiling, once again, Ian can hear the faint sounds of Liam crying downstairs.

  
XXX

Hearing a knock at the door, Mandy puts the X-Box controller down, walking towards the door. No one ever knocked on the door. Besides the police, and Ian. So she assumed it had to be the police. Looking through the peephole, she saw a buzz cut red head. 

She rips the door open and looks her best friend up and down. “Ian?” 

“Hey.” 

Without another thought, Mandy smiles and launches herself forwards, throwing her arms around Ian quickly, before pulling back. “What are you doing back?” 

“Could we take a walk?” he asks. 

“He’s not here. Neither is dad,” she tells him knowingly. 

“Still.” 

Watching the seriousness in his face, she shrugs. “Sure.” 

Mandy closes the door and leads Ian away from the house. She keeps watching his face as they walk silently, looking for any sign that he’s going to speak. But he doesn’t. They just walk for a while, ending up under the L. 

“So, you gonna tell me why you’re here?” she asks finally, figuring he had enough time to stew. 

He looks to her for a second, then looks away. “Got kicked out.” 

“Seriously? You’re like young G.I. Joe.” 

She can see the corner of Ian’s lip turn up into a small smile. “Well, they do a background check and fingerprint when you join the army. Philip Gallagher wasn’t only a bad candidate for military service but he is also enrolled at MIT and his prints from his multiple arrests don’t exactly match mine,” he says, oddly calm. 

Mandy doesn’t know what to say. She knows the army is Ian’s life. “Well, can you try again at 18.” 

Ian shakes his head. “I’ve pretty much fucked my chances of joining the military ever.” 

It’s silent for a moment, Mandy doing anything not to look at him as she searches for an appropriate reaction. “I’m sorry, Ian,” she says, hoping it’s the right thing; she’s never been quite sure. But she’s not sorry. Ian is one of the few people in her life who usually isn’t a total dick and she wants him around.

There’s a silence again and she doesn’t know how to break it, so they keep walking. The L rumbles overhead as a train passes. Neither even turn their heads up to look. 

Mandy awkwardly links her arm through Ian’s looking at his face again. He gives her a small smile, holding her arm with his. 

After some time, Ian speaks: “Can you not say anything to Mickey? About me being back; about anything?”

She debates saying something but she just nods.

XXX

Mickey puts the cigarette between his lips, holding it with his right hand, sucks in a sharp breath, then puffs out the gray smoke from his lips and nose, following it with a swig of the near empty bottle Vodka in the brown paper bag in his left hand.

He looks back and forth on the street corner, scanning the nearly empty street for his mark. Moments later a shaking man, hidden under a gray hoodie, walks up to him and they make the quick pass off, then Mickey is on his way. Once again he raises the mouth of the bottle to his lips, completely draining it in a single gulp. 

_That’s all you’re going to say to him?_

He feels the all too familiar of the alcoholic warmth spreading through him, dulling everything around him.

_You’re a fucking pussy._

 He kicks himself for drinking too much, something he’d done every day for the past two weeks. He realizes he passed the numb and to the dullness that sparks self-realization. Coward. 

 _Not everybody gets to just blurt out how they fucking feel every minute._  

He’d always been told emotions are a weakness; real men don’t show emotion. 

It’s only now that he’s feeling the strongest emotion since his mother died that he realizes: _It’s easy to be numb. Feeling things and dealing with it is hard._  

 _You’re a fucking pussy._  

Though he knows it’s empty, he puts the bottle to his lips again, hoping even the smallest drop will fall out. With the increase on his already grossly enormous alcohol consumption over the last two weeks, he thinks bitterly to himself that he could drink his drunken bitch of a Russian whore-wife under the table now. 

His footsteps echo through the underpass as he makes his way, swaying from foot to foot, home. 

As he nears the Gallagher home, he takes a sharp turn, making sure to take the alternate route home. 

Just as he turns he sees a flash of a familiar face with freckles and red hair across the street. Immediately he tells himself that he’s just having some kind of alcohol or coke induced mental break—caused by guilt, regret, longing, or any of the horrible emotions even the alcohol wasn’t chasing away—and walks away, taking a long, slow drag from his cigarette. 

He almost trips over a crumpled beer can but instead he starts kicking it along with him on the abandoned street for a few blocks. 

It feels as if the world is crushing him as he approaches the old house that stores nothing but pain for him. 

“Mand, you here?” he calls out, pushing the door. The sound reverberates through the seemingly empty house. He doesn’t expect her to answer though; she hasn’t said a word to him in two weeks. He’s not confused as to why. 

He walks through, looks down the hall and nothing. Part of him worries about where his sister got off to now that she and Lip aren’t a thing, but he knows she can definitely handle herself. 

He hears a knock on the front door and confusedly walks towards it. No one knocks on the Milkovichs’ door. Only one person had really ever done it. He saunters towards the door and pulls it open a crack. 

For a second it feels like the world stops. The person in front of him is no longer a person; it’s just a swirl of pain and red. It takes a moment before he’s in focus again and a weight settles in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he chokes out, trying to mask the feeling that his lungs and heart were getting sat on by a fat guy with his strong words. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting your ass shot off in Fallujah or some shit?” He swallows thickly cracking his neck to distract himself. 

“Yeah, I am,” Ian replies shortly. “Is Mandy here?” 

“No,” he replies, disappointed. There’s an awkward pause. Mickey looks down at his feet, kicks one against the doorframe then looks back up at Ian. “Wanna come in?” He cocks his head towards the interior of the house. 

“Nah, Mick. I was just here to see Mandy. Tell her I was looking for her?” 

“I’m not your fucking messenger boy,” he says passive aggressively. 

The corners of Ian’s lips turn up into a small smirk. “I’ll just come back later then.” With out further goodbye he turns his back and walks away. 

“Ian!” Mickey calls out, voice cracking roughly. 

Ian turns his head slightly, his brown eyes looking back at him somewhere between expecting and hopelessness. Time stands still as they stare at each other. 

Feeling the familiar feeling of a surge of his throat closing up and his eyes moistening, he looks away. “Nothing,” he says finally, attempting an offhanded wave off. 

Once again Ian’s lip curls up into the smallest of knowing smirks and he turns away, continuing away from the house. Mickey follows the red haired boy with his eyes as he walks down the stairs and finally out the gate of the house. Once Ian is out of sight, he closes the door to the old, rickety house, and slams his back against it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, wiping the slightest bit of moisture from his eyes. 

_I am such a pussy._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to continue this! I'm having Shameless withdrawals so I need it.
> 
> This chapter is all Ian with some other people. The next one will have Mickey. Hope you enjoy! Loved the comments from the last one!

For days, Ian walks around in a numb state. He goes to school like Fiona says he has to, but he stares at the board, blindly copying notes; he has nothing to work towards anyways. 

He begs Linda to give him his job back and she does, since Mickey left after he did and the new guy she hired steals from the register. 

He needs the money but more, he needs the space from the Gallagher house. Fiona tries to talk to him at every opportunity, Lip won’t speak to him, and Frank’s health weighs to heavily on the rest of the house. 

So, he goes to school, goes to work, then wanders the streets of Chicago, alone or sometimes Mandy joins him. 

She doesn’t make him talk. 

Today, she walks beside him, under the lit streetlights of the South Side, a cigarette between her pointer and middle finger. She smiles as she tells him about an encounter with a teacher. “…I mean, not only does she give homework over Christmas but now she actually expects me to write something about a book I’ve never read within a week? Like I care if I fail or whatever.” 

Ian smiles to himself more than her, actually enjoying how commonplace the conversation is. 

Mandy puts the fag between her lips, draws in, and releases the smoke away from Ian. She offers it to Ian who pinches it between his pointer and thumb, putting it to his own lips. He never loved smoking but it was just something he does. 

“Where is ‘Catcher in the Rye’ going to get us anyways,” he chimes in with a smiling scoff. He doesn’t mention that he already read the whole book because he had nothing else to do. 

“Exactly.” 

Silence slides between them but they keep walking comfortably, trading the cigarette back and forth. 

“I’ve missed you,” Mandy admits. 

“I’ve been back for like a month. I was only gone for a week,” Ian reminds her. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve been like a ghost. I missed Ian.” 

“So I’m Ian again?” he laughs incredulously. 

“Douchebag.” She hits him with the side of her fist and they both smile. It’s a little awkward as they try to figure out what to talk about, both avoiding their best friends’ sore spots. Usually Ian would tell her his problems and she’d return but now, her problems are about Lip, something he knows she doesn’t want to talk about, and probably some home problems, which he knows she won’t mention out of awkwardness with Ian. 

So they’re silent. They tease, anything light hearted, talk about school, anything that means nothing. 

XXX 

The living room is quiet, quieter than possible with six kids in the house but with Debbie, Carl, and Liam asleep, and Lip out, only Ian and Fiona are left to creep about the first floor. 

Hearing the creaking of the floorboards, Ian turns his head to see his older sister, tiptoeing towards him, smiling softly. She sinks down on the beaten up couch beside him, knees pulled up to her chest. “Ian, you’ve been like a ghost for weeks. Can you please tell me what’s going on?” she pleads. 

Ian sits, not answering, puts his beer can to his lips, and takes a long swig. “I was fucking Mickey Milkovich,” he confesses, expelling it one breath. 

Fiona’s eyes seem to bug out of her head as she tries to wrap her head around it without an outburst comment. “So Mickey is-“ 

“Yup.”

“And he got married.” 

“Yeah.” 

They’re quiet again as Ian downs another sip of beer. 

Through the corner of his eye he can see Fiona turn away slightly. “So I’m guessing you felt something?” 

“Yeah,” he answers simply. “Something. Doesn’t matter anymore though.” 

Fiona leans over, putting her head on Ian’s shoulder. Her warmth against him is oddly comforting so he snuggles slightly in to it, and they fall back into silence, this time more comfortable. 

“I didn’t join the army to run,” he tells her. “I just needed to _do_ something.” 

He can’t see it but he feels Fiona nod against his shoulder. “I don’t think Jimmy is coming back so I just keep working and busy myself with the kids to keep my head above water.” 

A sense of mutual understanding falls over them. 

She picks her head up, off Ian’s shoulder, to look at him face on. “You need to make up with Lip. You two are my rocks. I can’t do it without you.” 

Ian says nothing but nods. Patting his sister’s leg, he smiles slightly at her, and then stands up. As he gets to the foot of the stairs he turns back and she turns towards him. “You won’t say anything, will you?” 

“Of course not,” she assures him. 

Nodding, he ascends the stairs. 

XXX         

Ian turns the handle of his brother’s room, then throws the door open. It slams against the wall, making a loud noise that reverberates through the room. 

“The fuck?” groans Lip, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hit me if it’ll make you feel better,” says Ian. He waits as Lip pushes himself up, kicking his covers off. “I’m sick of you not talking to me. I need my brother back, okay?” 

Lip pauses, his feet hitting the floor, as he seemingly debates his options. Calmly, he stands and moves towards Ian. Before Ian can make a defensive move, a fist flies at Ian’s face. It knocks him back and he braces himself on the wall behind him. His hand comes up to cup his eye and he lets out a short moan of pain, but looks back at his brother. “That make you feel better?” he asks. 

“Actually, yeah.” 

Ian smiles because Lip’s smiling. “Asshole,” he scoffs, rubbing his sore eye. 

“Dickhead,” Lip returns.

They grin tightly at each other for a moment. 

“Look, Lip-“ 

“You don’t have to,” Lip says. “We don’t need one of those chick flick moments. Let’s get some food.” 

“Yeah.” And Ian’s glad that was it. 

Lip puts an arm around his brother’s shoulders and they walk down into the Gallagher kitchen. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! But here's another part!
> 
> This one is from Mickey, then Ian's perspective.

Mickey fires round after round into the tree. Rationally he knows there’s no point but shooting has always calmed him down. He takes aim at small pieces of the tree, pulls the trigger, and feels the familiar push of the gun as it recoils. Over and over the loud bang like cannon fire, echoing through the underpass under the L, it rings out too loudly to be good for his ears but he keeps shooting. He’s sure someone in the area is ready to come out of the house with a bat and try to chase him off but he’s a Milkovich. Even the mere sound of his name would frighten most off.

_Not Ian._

He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him. When a hand touches his shoulder, he jumps so forcefully he shoots a sloppy round so that it barely grazes the tree.

Turning he finds his _wife_ (the word makes him cringe), dressed from work, standing behind him. In her heels that he can only describe as hooker pumps, she stands nearly a head taller than him and seems to loom over him like a dark cloud.

“When do you plan on coming home?” she asks in the accent that has come to irritate and infuriate him. _Fucking Russian_.

“Whenever I fucking feel like it,” he snaps, turning back to the tree. He fires a shot.

“I’m going home to cook dinner come home in an hour,” she says definitively.

“I’ll come home when I want to,” he says.

“Fine,” she snaps. She turns on her heel and walks away.

He watches her thin form walk away for a moment before turning, with an absence of regret or any feeling, back towards the tree. Most days he wonders if she’s actually pregnant. She’s still skinny as a twig and drinks like a fucking fish. If she is, he thinks their baby will probably come out like some mutant freak.

He avoids home so he can avoid thinking about it. Even if she’s not pregnant, thanks to his father, he knows there’s no way out but buried in a wooded area somewhere or taking an acid bath.

Bored of firing his gun, he puts the safety on, sticks it down the back of his tattered shorts, covers it with his shirt, and starts walking. There are no cops in the crime infested area to bust him for carrying a weapon without proper licensing but concealing it is always a good choice.

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going and somehow he realizes he’s on the Gallaghers’ street. Not turning back for the first time in weeks, he boldly walks on the opposite side of the street, stopping when he’s across from the house. For a few minutes he just watches the house. It’s quiet.

There are no little Gallaghers running about, no shouting, no ruckus; he can just see a figure in the kitchen window, slowly moving about. He figures it’s the older sister, Fiona.

But, gone are the days of getting to know these things. Gone are the days of getting shot in the ass trying to help Gallagher’s boyfriend rob a house, gone are the days of Gallagher speaking to him.

He pulls a beer out of his pocket, pulls the top and listens to the quiet hiss of it opening, before taking a long swig.

The alcohol rushes through his veins and he quickly finishes the can. It burns in him like liquid courage and he decides, though he knows Ian will be on duty, he’ll go to the Kash and Grab to get more beer.

Not losing confidence, he walks back the way he came, under the L, and towards the Kash and Grab. Standing beside the door he takes a breath and walks in. At first, he doesn’t even look towards the register, instead choosing to go towards the refrigerator cases. He grabs what he wants and goes up to the register. Only then does he look up at Gallagher’s face. It wears a stone cold expression but Mickey can see some flicker of emotion in Ian’s blue eyes. He doesn’t let it give him any hope. He stays somber.

“Haven’t seen you in here in a while,” says Gallagher, ringing up the few items.

“Haven’t needed to come in,” he replies. “Wife buys all our shit.” _Stupid shit head. Why would you mention her?_

Ian nods solemnly in understanding. “That’ll be eleven forty two.”

Mickey pulls out a few crumpled bills and puts them down on the counter. Without another word, Gallagher puts the money in the cash register and gives Mickey his change. Change in hand he makes a move to leave.

“See you around,” Gallagher says to his back. It’s half hearted and not like the hopeful goodbyes he used to get.

“Yeah.” And he’s gone with a ring of the door and an over-the-shoulder wave of his hand.

XXX

Ian watches Mickey’s back as the glass door closes behind him. _Be strong._

Falling apart again is not an option, and he knows that. He’s so far been pretty decent at, at least, playing it cool but there’s still a red, fleshy wound where his heart had been ripped out of his chest. But he put some bandages over it and ignored it, filling his time with work, school, Mandy, and his family. Anything to stop him from thinking.

If he thinks, he’d remember that he feels empty. So he can’t think.

His shifts are boring and tedious but he wants the money so he sits behind the counter, flipping through a book for school or a magazine.

Once the clock strikes eight he closes up the Kash and Grab, and heads home. His encounter with Mickey left a stale feeling in him but he ignores it and makes it home.

As soon as he reaches the front door he can hear the music blasting from the living room. Going in he finds Fiona, Lip, Kev, and Veronica drinking Tequila and dancing around the living room with Debbie jumping on the couch.

Fiona gives Ian a laughing smile and pulls him into the mix.

With a smile of his own, he drops his bag, grabs the tequila, and starts dancing. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I didn't actually abandon this. I just lost my computer for a while. This chapter has some flashback, a Ian/Mickey interaction, and some integration of the end of 3x12. 
> 
> PS: Flashback is in italics.

"Good morning family," Lip says chipperly, descending the stairs. Ian turns up from his cereal and nods in acknowledgement with a full mouth.

"Ugh," Fiona groans, standing hunched over the kitchen counter, clutching her head.

"Drink too much?" Lip smirks.

"V brought over a bottle of tequila," she moans. "I drank most of it."

"Drink water," Ian shrugs, shoveling another bite of cereal in his mouth.

"Thanks," she says sarcastically.

Ian checks his watch and drops his spoon in the cereal bowl. "Gotta get to school," he says.

"Wait up," Lip stops him. "I'll walk out with you."

He swings his backpack over his shoulder and turns towards the door. Ian holds the door open as Lip slips his shoes on. He nods as Lip claps him on the back, signaling him to move.

"Feel better Fi," calls Ian.

“Wait! Will you-”

The door slams, cutting her off and they race down the stairs to avoid doing whatever their sister-guardian wants them to. Ian’s also sure the slam made her recoil in pain.

They walk silently for a few minutes, surrounded by the cold and decently quiet streets. "Just so you know, I punched Mickey," Lip says casually.

Ian turns his head, surprised at the random outburst. "What?"

"Yeah, it was when we realized you were gone. I figured it was his fault. Or at least he lit the fire after that display at the wedding."

"You didn't have to punch him," Ian argues.

"I did. You're my little brother. I got your back."

Ian adjusts the straps of his backpack. "You don't need to have my back."

"Well, I've got it. So suck it up."

Rolling his eyes, Ian turns away, towards school while Lip turns down another street.

XXX

_"Hey Milkovich!" Lip calls out, chasing the shorter man down._

_"What do you want Gallagher?"_

_Mickey turns and Lip can immediately tell he looks unhappy and exhausted with dark bags under his eyes. Lip can't bring himself to care. He launches forwards, band balled into a fist, claps a hand down on Mickey's shoulder and swings his fist forwards._

_Holding his stomach, Mickey stumbles back. "Tha fuck?" he asks, hunched over._

_"That's for fucking with my brother."_

_"That's none of your business," he grits out_

_Lip clenches his fist, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. Ian is his brother; that makes it his business. "It is my business when you're the reason he tried to join the goddamn army."_

_"He's always wanted to do that."_

_A small voice in the back of his head tells him Ian wouldn't want him doing any of this but he strangles it. He knows Ian will be better off far away from Mickey Milkovich._

_"Just stay away from him." Not giving Mickey a chance to answer, Lip turns and stalks away._

XXX

Ian flips mindlessly through a magazine behind the counter of the Kash and Grab. School had been annoyingly boring today since Mandy hadn’t shown. It isn’t like her but he knows with the Milkovich clan, it happens. Yet he couldn’t help but be upset that he hadn’t had someone to snicker with when Mr. Turret slipped and fell over in the hallway.

The door chimes and at first he doesn’t look up. Customers usually don’t need help. It’s not until he catches a familiar whiff of aftershave and unwashed musk that he looks up to see Mickey Milkovich looking around in the front of the store. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular, just browsing. Part of Ian hopes he’ll just go away because looking at him makes old feelings resurface and it hurts too much. The other part of him likes seeing Mickey, likes remembering the good times; though, the good times were not that good.

Mickey comes to the counter with a bottle of beer and places it down in front of Ian with a five. Wordlessly, he rings it up and gives Mickey his change. With a stone face Mickey takes the bottle and moves towards the door. He suddenly stops and turns his head to the side slightly.

“I miss you,” he says, barely loud enough for Ian to hear. It’s not sappy, just a statement of reality; and, like that, he’s gone.

Ian stops. All the feelings he’d pushed aside threaten to explode from the small box they’d been in. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

Thoughts and memories swirl in his mind clouding him for the last few minutes of his shift. It hurts yet feels so good and he can’t seem to figure out which feeling is stronger. In a daze, he closes up and heads home. The walk home is programed into his subconcious so his feet lead the way while his head can only come up with one thought: _I miss him too_.

He hates it and he doesn’t want to miss Mickey after the other boy just let him go, too coward to stand up for what he so obviously wanted: for Ian. He wants someone who will want him and fight for him. He wants Mickey to be that guy. But he never will be.

Those thoughts consume him until his hand reaches around the doorknob and push the front door in.  

The second he walks into the livingroom he can tell nothing is right. Fiona is curled up on the couch, clutching Veronica who shushes her and pets her hair, while Kev sits in the armchair, head in his hands. Debbie and Carl are next to Fiona, seemingly comforting her yet in their own dazes.

Ian’s first reaction is: _Frank’s dead_. But he realizes Debbie and Carl would be the ones falling apart. The rest of the family was pretty prepared for it.

Lip just stands against the wall, watching the scene. Ian looks to him quizzically.

“Jimmy’s dead,” Lip tells him. Fiona lets out a sob.

“What? How?” asks Ian, his own problems momentarily forgotten.

“We don’t know. They just told Fi that he washed up on shore.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. And he was still married to Estefania, like involved-married.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ian hears Fiona sob.

“Rough,” is all Ian can think to say so he says it quietly so that only Lip can hear. He doesn't really know how to react so he just stands stoically next to Lip, watching Fiona fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. I love all your lovely comments. They make my day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. It's a little short but I hope you enjoy! It's all Gallavich.

The Gallagher home remains quiet for days after the news of Steve’s death. Fiona takes a few days off work to grieve by oscillating between drinking herself stupid and lying in bed. Debbie gets tasked with taking care of her while V tries to take care of all of them. 

Ian stays away, not wanting to deal with the whole situation. He takes an extra shift at the Kash and Grab and even ventures to hang out with Mandy at her place a few times, in part to escape but another part to prove he could. The Russian whore walks through once, back to hers and Mickey’s room, giving Ian the classic, “He’s mine now bitch” with as much ferocity as her dead eyes can. Ian turns away, finding Mandy’s eyes glaring daggers at her sister-in-law. 

Other than that, Ian feels almost at home at Mandy’s like he used to before everything got complicated. Before it fell apart. 

He walks up to the Milkovich house to meet Mandy for a study afternoon, which for them usually ended with playing X-Box or smoking nitrous on the front porch.

Ian’s stomach flip-flops when he sees the dirty man who opens the door. “Is Mandy there?” he asks Mickey, avoiding eye contact, hoping the other man will just let him pass by and go in without more contact. Since Mickey had admitted he missed Ian, the walls Ian had built to protect himself from Mickey had tumbled down. He doesn’t trust his self-control. 

“No.” He leans against the doorframe staring straight at Ian. Though Ian doesn’t meet his eyes, he can feel the heat. 

“Well is she coming back soon?”

Mickey shrugs, taking a casual sip of his beer. Ian finally looks up, catching Mickey’s eyes. Immediately he feels the mistake. He feels everything rushing over him and pouring out. His body leans forwards, just slightly, like an invitation. Mickey takes it, looking out on to the street before pulling Ian into the house by his shirt. As soon as the door closes, Ian is pushed up against it, lips covered by Mickey’s. It’s a far cry from intimate but Ian can feel all the words Mickey wants to say. 

Lips still locked, Mickey leads Ian towards his room, both stumbling and tripping over their own feet and the scattered objects strewn about the floors of the creaky house. Ian lets Mickey shoves off his coat. It drops to the floor with a thud.

As soon as Ian is pushed back on the bed, he can feel everything is wrong. The bed not only smells like Mickey but like a sickening floral perfume. His whole brain screams for him to push the man on top of him off and storm out but his body stays lax, falling into the familiar patters of being with Mickey. Though, the kissing is new and only helping to keep him pinned to the bed.

Mickey shifts back to straddle Ian’s legs and take his shirt off and Ian sits up, doing the same. Their lips reconnect, moving together wetly. His hands slide through the bed, reaching for Mickey but his fingers get tangled in some fabric. As he brings his hand up, behind Mickey’s back to see what he found, his stomach drops. A thong. Suddenly he can smell the floral perfume too strongly and his hand finds a thong as he reaches for Mickey. 

Then Mickey is on the ground and Ian is putting his shirt back on.

“The fuck, Gallagher?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t-“ He stumbles out the door, grabs his coat from the floor

He grabs his coat and runs towards the door.

“Gallagher!”

Ian ignores him and runs out. His lungs burn as he races down the street, feet pounding the pavement, heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t stop until he’s through the door of the Gallagher house, up the stairs, in his bedroom. He takes a few, heaving breaths then swings his leg back, jamming his foot into the dresser. The whole thing shakes, knocking off the deodorant and clothes on top. 

“Fuck!”

He falls back on his bed, still fully dressed.


End file.
